The Oasis (27 page)

“He would care if he was told our strength and the defencelessness of the oasis.” Mesehti spoke again. He was frowning and absently sweeping bread crumbs into little hills. “He believes that the five thousand men who wintered at Het nefer Apu comprise our whole army. What would he feel if he was told of the fifty-five thousand here? First astonishment, then alarm. Following that would be temptation. He is presented with an opportunity to take advantage of the stupidity of the Tao’s officers.” He turned to Kamose. “Forgive me, Majesty. I am attempting to enter Apepa’s mind. He will be anxious, wondering how long we intend to stay here, whether it would be better to wait and see if we move the troops to an even more defenceless position or risk a quick march across the desert to catch us here. He will consult his officers for advice.”

His officers, Kamose thought. Pezedkhu. A chill ran down his spine. Pezedkhu, whom he had last seen standing in his chariot while he, Hor-Aha and Si-Amun crouched behind a rock after the disastrous engagement at Qes. Pezedkhu’s words had rung out coldly, arrogantly, across the carnage. “… He is mighty. He is invincible. He is the Beloved of Set. Crawl home if you can and lick your wounds in shame and disgrace …” Kamose’s fingers went to the barely visible white line across his cheek, all that remained of the slash that had cut open his face.

“But could we withdraw our men into the desert until Apepa’s arrived and then sweep down on them?” he asked. “Could we keep our troops out there in that pitiless waste for days while we watched the oasis? It would be an even greater gamble than the one we want Apepa to take.” He shifted in his chair and forced his hand back to the table.

“No, Majesty, we could not,” Hor-Aha said definitely. “We must begin a retreat to Het nefer Apu as soon as our spies tell us that Apepa has left the Delta, arrive at the Nile in time to drink and rest, and then turn upon the other forces as they come east.”

“Why would Apepa commit his army in the first place?” Ankhmahor put in at last. He had been listening intently to the discussion, his eyes going from one speaker to another, his body relaxed and still. Now he straightened and leaned forward, reaching for the jug of water before him. The heat in the tent had thickened and all present were sweating lightly. “Why would his first presumption not be that this is a trap?”

“Someone must go to him and convince him that it is not,” Ahmose said slowly. “Someone he can be persuaded to trust. We must send a spy who will allow himself to be caught and who has the wit and subtlety to feign fear and confess the knowledge. A common soldier perhaps. A pretended deserter? Greedy for reward?”

“There would be no second chance,” Mesehti said. “If the spy failed and we waited in vain for any word, we would be losing valuable time. The campaign season would be passing swiftly and it is no mean feat to lead fifty-five thousand men back to Het-Uart and then organize another siege.”

That word seemed to settle a pall of gloom over the assembly. For a while there was a silence broken only by the intermittent swish of Intef’s fly whisk and the soft conversation of the guards outside. Kamose was about to suggest that they disperse in order to think about what had been said until the morning, when a sharp challenge rang out beyond the tent and a familiar voice answered it. The flap was lifted and Ramose strode in. His short kilt clung damply to his dust-streaked thighs and his sandals left little pools of sand as he approached the gathering, went down on his knees, and kissed both of Kamose’s feet. “Forgive this sweat and filth, Majesty,” he said apologetically. “I received the summons and set off at once. I slept under my chariot and have not been to my tent to be washed.” Impulsively Kamose bent and gripped both the hot shoulders before him.

“I am very happy to see you again, Ramose,” he said. “Get up!” Ramose obeyed, scrambling to his feet and taking the cup of water Ankhmahor was holding out to him. Draining it, he saluted Ahmose, then sank onto an empty chair. He drew a battered scroll from his belt and handed it across the table.

“My soldier and I intercepted a Setiu herald heading south on the Ta-she track,” he said. “He was carrying this. He is being detained in the prison hut.” Amid the general murmur his announcement had prompted, Kamose took the scroll and unrolled it, reading swiftly. He looked up.

“The man was on his way to Kush,” he said. “He was taking the desert paths, well away from the Nile.” He grinned. “This confirms our suspicion that Apepa believes our whole force to be centred at Het nefer Apu. The herald chose the route he did so as to avoid Paheri and the navy. Thank all the gods you were vigilant, Ramose, or both Kush and the Delta would soon have known of our strength here.”

“Will you give us the news?” Ahmose urged. Kamose nodded.

“The scroll says this. ‘Awoserra the Son of Ra, Apepa: Greetings to my son the ruler of Kush. Why do you act there as ruler without letting me know whether you see what Egypt has done to me, how its ruler Kamose has set upon me on my own soil though I have not attacked him? He has chosen to ruin these two lands, my land and yours, and he has already devastated them. Come north therefore. Be not timid. He is here in my vicinity. There is none who can stand against you in this part of Egypt. Behold I will give him no repose until you have arrived. And then we two shall divide up the towns of Egypt.’” A gale of laughter, part derision, part relief, shook the listeners when Kamose had finished.

“What a boaster!” Mesehti chortled. ‘I will give him no repose.’ It is we who have given him no repose!”

“‘Be not timid’?” Ahmose quoted. “The coward sits safely in Het-Uart while we take back what is ours almost without opposition and he dares to call Teti-En the Handsome timid? Timid? He has no Setiu blood in him, so how can he be timid?”

“What do you think Teti-En would have done if the message had got through to him, Majesty?” Iasen wanted to know. “Apepa called him his son.”

“He was just trying to ingratiate himself with the Prince of Kush,” Kamose replied. “Teti-En is no Setiu, as my brother said. He is a mystery, the Fallen One, an Egyptian who chose to leave Egypt and draw the Kushite tribes into one union under him, but he seems to have no interest in using them for conquest.” He paused, considering. “He has treaties with Apepa, but whether he would honour them, it is impossible to say. If he still thinks like an Egyptian, he would read Apepa’s appeal and then wait to see what might happen. After all, in order to bring warriors from Kush to the aid of Apepa, he would have to first march them through Wawat, and the Medjay hate the Kushites. After that he would enter Upper Egypt and immediately be in land under our control.”

“Fortunately he has remained quiet so far, seeing that most of the men from the Medjay villages in Wawat are here with our army,” Ahmose pointed out. “No Kushite messenger has been intercepted at Weset. It might be as well to send to Tetisheri and warn her to tighten her watch on the river, although Weset does not have enough troops left to repel a concerted attack by the Kushites. We can only hope that in such an eventuality the remaining Medjay in Wawat and the soldiers still at Weset would be able to at least slow him down. The last thing we need is a battle front forming down there.”

“I know,” Kamose admitted. “All we can do is trust that Teti-En’s inaction signifies an attitude of temporary neutrality. Remember that his capital in Kush is a very long way from Egypt. I think that he will only come north if his own little kingdom is directly threatened.”

“I agree,” Ahmose said. “He will consider his own advantage first. What will you do now, Kamose?”

“I am not sure.” Kamose rose and stretched. “But I am heartened by Apepa’s ignorance. I hope the majority of his officers and advisers are as stupid as he.” Ramose glanced around the company.

“I see that I arrived too late for a strategy meeting, Majesty. Do we march for the Nile?” Kamose shook his head and gestured at Hor-Aha, and the General briskly summarized his proposal and the talk that had followed it. When he ceased speaking, Kamose bade them stand.

“No more until tomorrow,” he said to them all. “Come back with a clearer vision of how this may be accomplished. Ramose, clean yourself up and join Ahmose and me for the evening meal.”

The Princes bowed and quickly scattered. When the two brothers and Ramose were alone, Ramose asked quietly, “Majesty, how is my mother?” Kamose met his eye.

“She is well but still keeps much to herself,” he answered honestly. “I do not think it is grief any longer, Ramose. It is anger because I did not let her die with Teti.” Ramose nodded.

“She has always been strong-willed, like her cousin, your mother. I miss her.”

Riding back to their tent, Kamose found himself suddenly exhausted. After handing the scroll to Ipi for copying and filing, he lay on his cot and was soon asleep and he did not wake until the long fingers of sunset crept across the carpeted floor.

Washed, painted and freshly clad, Ramose joined Kamose and Ahmose as they ate beside the pool. Torches guttered orange in the spindled palm trees, their flames tossed in the pleasantly cool night breeze. Servants came and went, padding barefoot through the hillocks of sand, and the spasmodic laughter of unseen soldiers filled the air. High above in the velvet darkness of the sky the stars hung unblinking.

Towards the end of the meal, when the wine flagon had been emptied and the three men were picking half-heartedly at the last platter of dates, Ahmose sat back with a sigh of satisfaction. “There is optimism in the air tonight,” he said. “You can hear it in the men’s voices. I feel it as a wind of change, a good omen. What do you think, Ramose? You’ve been very silent.” Ramose gave him a faint smile.

“I am sorry, Highness,” he said. “I have indeed been thinking hard, but about the General’s plan. It is sound. It has only two flaws.”

“How can Apepa truly be persuaded to leave his city and how can we ensure that his troops will be more fatigued than ours when they reach Het nefer Apu,” Kamose put in. Ramose nodded.

“Exactly.” He hesitated, his gaze on the black burnish of the dates. Kamose saw his brows draw together in a frown and felt his own stomach tighten. I know what he is going to say, he thought to himself with cold certainty. It is so obvious and yet I shied away from it. Did Ahmose? He felt his brother’s glance and met it. Ahmose nodded once, an imperceptible assent. Ramose’s chin lifted. “I have no idea how the second objective can be achieved,” he said. “But I have a solution for the first. Send me to Apepa, Kamose. I am the perfect vehicle for your betrayal.”

“Go on,” Kamose said tonelessly. His heartbeat had quickened. Ramose held up a finger.

“There is Tani,” he began. “I am still in love with her and I ran away from you in order to see her again.” He extended another finger. “There is the execution of my father, a reason to turn my affection for you into hate.” A third finger rose to rest against the other two. “There is my inheritance, my estates at Khemmenu, gone to Meketra. If Apepa doesn’t know that, I will tell him. I will offer him all the information he wants in exchange for a meeting with Tani and the opportunity to fight with the Setiu against you.” He grimaced. “Perhaps I shall ask for Khemmenu to be returned to me for my loyalty.” In the silence that followed he looked from one to the other. “My words do not surprise you, do they?” he said softly. “My offer was already in your minds.” He turned urgently to Kamose. “Majesty, do not hesitate to use me, do not shrink because of our long friendship or in guilt over the destruction of my hopes. Apepa ruined them, not you, and my father was the cause of his own downfall.” Kamose studied the handsome, earnest face and felt an unaccustomed sadness well up in him. It was a gentle emotion, civilized and fraught with nostalgia.

“You deserve to live the rest of your life in peace, Ramose,” he managed and the young man made a savage gesture and sat back.

“So do you. It is pointless to kick against fate. To do so simply renders us less and less able to make sensible choices. It has to be me, Kamose. None of the Princes will do. With the exception of Ankhmahor and perhaps Mesehti they are too open to seduction once they leave your control. You cannot trust them completely.” He heaved himself to his feet and stood with both palms flat on the surface of the table. “You cannot send an ordinary officer. He would not have the subtlety of mind necessary to spar with Apepa and allay his suspicions. It has to be me.” But what is your motive? Kamose wondered. A loss of faith in your future? Revenge on Apepa? A genuine need to see Tani? Or is it a chance to flee from my presence? He shook himself mentally.

“I am loath to do this,” he said. “I do not want your death or imprisonment on my conscience if something goes wrong. You have suffered enough at my hands.” Ramose’s eyes narrowed.

“I made my choice years ago,” he retorted. “It is already the end of Mekhir, Majesty. Spring is advancing. You must decide.”

“But first I must think.” Kamose rose and Ahmose with him. “Go and sleep, Ramose. We will talk again tomorrow.”

When Ramose had gone, Kamose drew his brother away from the torches, and when they had reached the edge of the straggling palm grove and were alone with the immensity of the desert running away from them under the pale starlight, he lowered himself onto the sand and folded his legs. Ahmose sank down beside him. For a while they did not speak, allowing the deep stillness of their surroundings to enter them. Then Kamose said, “I cannot allow him to take the risk. It is too dangerous.” Ahmose did not answer at once but Kamose felt his slow appraisal.

“I do not understand you, Kamose,” he said after a moment. “So far you have been ruthless in your disregard for anyone and anything that threatened to become an obstacle. The impregnability of Het-Uart has been driving you insane, yet when you are presented with an opportunity to achieve your goal, you suddenly develop a most uncharacteristic sensibility. Why?”

“I thought it was our goal, not just mine,” Kamose said fiercely. “Don’t you understand that Ramose is a link with the past, with a kinder time, that when I look at him I am reminded not only of the pain I have caused but also of the man I used to be?” He struggled to suppress the rage that always lurked just below the surface of his composure. “If I can keep him alive, it will be as though I have somehow preserved what is best in Egypt, as though there is something innocent and precious left after all the killing and burning.” He passed a hand wearily over his eyes. “As though there is something left of myself.”